Everything Is Under Control
by wordonamongoose
Summary: At the University of Bifrost, tucked away in an obscure corner of the British Isles, students are encouraged to broaden their horizons. Loki doesn't quite think that this means students are encouraged to engage in communal activities with their newly-discovered father, who is also a crime lord. That's okay, though. Loki has it covered. Everything is under control.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, as promised this is the long university AU story that we've been working on. The next chapter might be a little while in coming, but until then, we hope you enjoy this first one!**

**Rated T for language. Mostly from Darcy and Clint.  
**

**By the way, we call it a 'university' AU because college means something different in Britain: your college is the place where you live within your university, and the entire establishment is the university. Got it? Good. Also, university is frequently shortened to just 'uni' by the young people of today.  
**

**Please read and review!  
**

Darcy looked at her suitcase and sighed.

When she'd first found out she was coming, she hadn't stopped to think about silly little things like what to pack and what not to pack and if that giant inflatable porpoise was really necessary. She'd just sort of been caught up in the post-results euphoria (and drinking. Lots and lots of drinking). And now it was coming back to haunt her.

There was absolutely no way she was getting it up that deathtrap that she presumed other people called _stairs_.

She peered up the cavernous climb and shrunk back, too scared to look any further. Great. Now what was she supposed to do? Jane wasn't due to arrive for another – she checked her watch – hour or so, and it was bucketing down outside. Welcome to England. What do you mean, why is it raining? This _is _a nice day!

She couldn't just stay there until someone came to help. Pull yourself together, Darcy. You're not some damsel in distress waiting for her handsome prince to come and rescue her –

"Um, excuse me? Miss?"

A handsome young man with a soft American accent had popped his head around one of the doors lining the corridor and was staring at her with a mixture of concern and earnest… well, _chivalry _shining in his face. Huh. She never thought she'd use that word about someone from this century, let alone a Yank. The rest of his body quickly followed him out onto the landing.

Darcy took a moment to look him up and down. _Begin as you mean to go on_, that was what her mother always said. He was attractive, in a kind of typically American way – wavy blonde hair, blue eyes, built like a sportsman. This in itself was enough to make Darcy predisposed to dislike him, but there was something different about this one; he had the air of an excitable puppy, always ready to do anything and everything for anyone. Hmm. That could come in useful.

"Hi, I'm Steve Rogers. I think you're in the room next to mine? Do you want some help with that, Miss…?"

"Darcy. Darcy Lewis. And yes, I would. Thank you." She promptly dumped her bags at the foot of the stairs and smiled up at him as he descended. Mmm. Quite tall. And those muscles… She had to drag her eyes away from his arms as he bent to pick up her luggage.

He bid her farewell once all her stuff was safely located in her room, with a hopeful, "I'll see you at dinner, then?" She was more surprised than she expected to see him go, but at least the view of his backsidewas… interesting, to say the least.

Darcy flopped down on her new bed and sighed deeply. Barely an hour into her new life, and she was already checking out guys! Hopefully when Jane got here she would set her straight. Jane was probably the most prudish teenager ever to live. Darcy sometimes called her "Jane Eyre", but she didn't get the joke. Stupid physicists and their lack of a sense of humour. She hoped that not everyone at this place would be a complete prat.

* * *

_Why does this building have to have so many stairs? _Bruce lamented silently as he dragged his bags up to the next floor. His parents' house didn't have this many stairs. Well… that would be because he and his parents lived in a tiny apartment because they couldn't afford anything bigger, but that wasn't the point! Stupid stairs.

Ah, here was his room. He hoped his roommate wasn't a complete prat, that would be just his luck. But he mustn't judge. His mother had raised him better than that.

He fumbled for the key in his pockets. His mother had told him not to keep so much rubbish in there, but had he listened? No he hadn't. And now he was paying the price. Looking like an idiot: standing in the corridor rifling through his pockets. Wire, screwdriver tip, toothpick, drawing pin (that definitely should _not _be in such a dangerous place), button, an OXO cube (what the hell was _that _doing there?), string, something mysteriously squishy and…there. Key.

He shoved it into the lock, which had a rather interesting looking digital pad next to it with wires tumbling out which he would like to have a look at later, and pushed the door open. It was halted by something on the inside, but it gave way with a little push.

Bruce's jaw dropped.

He blinked several times and reached up to rub his eyes, depositing one of his bags on his foot in the process. He was too out of it to notice.

Had he taken a wrong turn and accidentally wandered into the million-pound apartment of a billionaire genius?

Because that was what it looked like from where he was standing.

All of the furniture had been pushed to the very outer perimeter of the room, leaving space for the huge workspace in the centre. There were at least six top-of-the-range computer screens showing a range of displays from some kind of machine blueprint to tomorrow's weather. They were perched in various degrees of perilousness on top of a big glass desk, which was covered in a thick layer of sheets of what looked like designs for some sort of flying contraption. Over by the window was a chemistry workbench, positively groaning under the weight of test tubes, Bunsen burners, blowtorches, hammers, tongs and all manner of scientific equipment. And was that a suit of armour hanging on the bathroom door?

The room was like a cross between a laboratory and a blacksmith's forge. In short, it was pretty much Bruce's idea of heaven.

And sitting in the middle of it all, dark brown hair sticking up all over the place, was a stocky young man wearing a pair of black safety goggles cheerfully dismantling what looked like a CCTV camera.

Bruce stood there in silence for a couple of minutes before he finally managed to reconnect his tongue to his brain. "Um...excuse me?"

His new roommate looked up and abruptly pushed the goggles up onto his forehead, revealing a patch of clean skin where they had protected his eyes from the soot covering the rest of his face. He grinned widely and bounced out of his ergonomically-designed office chair to shake Bruce's hand.

"Hello! You must be the other inhabitant of this..." He looked around the room, obviously trying not to say something insulting about it. "...cosy little place. Of course, it's a bit on the small side, but I think there's room for everything."

Bruce stared at him, trying not to show that his new dwelling was half as big again as his bedroom at home.

"Oh, I'm sorry, where are my manners? The name's Stark. Tony Stark."

"I'm Bruce. Banner. B-Bruce Banner." Way to go, Bruce. Now he thinks you're some kind of retard who can't even say their own name right.

"It's great to meet you, Bruce. I hope you don't mind all my mess..."

"Oh, no, that's quite alright. I'm kind of into science too."

"Really?" Tony Stark's dark brown eyes lit up in what could only be described as pure joy. "That's so weird! Who knew that us two science geeks would get paired up? Strange, doncha think?"

Bruce shrugged and kept his eyes firmly fixed on his worn Converse, which suddenly looked very old and grubby next to all this fancy equipment. "I guess."

"But we're gonna have lots of fun together, I can tell. What are you reading, then?"

"N-Natural Sciences." Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, just like he did when anyone asked about his subject. "I kinda...want to be a doctor." He winced internally as soon as the words left his mouth - he sounded so stupid, as if he'd ever get into medical school -

But, to his surprise, Tony smiled and nodded encouragingly. "That's cool. I'm an engineer myself. All about the nuts and bolts. And the equations, of course. God forbid we forget the all-important equations."

"Do you...design stuff, then?" Bruce gestured at the piles of blueprints on the desk.

"Yup. I'm working on a kind of flying machine at the moment."

"Really? Does it work?"

"Nah, not yet. I'm still working on the prototype. I'll probably jump off the cathedral with it or something."

Bruce nods, then stops to think for a moment. "Wouldn't that be really dangerous? It's like fifty feet high!"

Tony shrugged. "We build but to tear down. Come on, I'll show you the design."

And as his new roomie led him over to the bank of computers that he'd only ever dreamed of looking at, let alone using, Bruce knew that they were going to get along just fine. The man'd quoted Nikola Tesla, for God's sake. Anyone who even recognised the name had to be a good guy in Bruce's book.

* * *

Clint's first two days at uni could be going worse.

Actually, that was a lie. He really could not imagine anything going more wrong.

First, the train was late, so by the time he arrived it was already dark and he tripped over his suitcase in the dim glow from the streetlamps. Then, he got lost and had to ask a really scary-looking third-year the way to Midgard College. And then he fell down the stairs. Luckily his reflexes were quick enough that he avoided serious injury, but his dignity was severely bruised, especially as he heard vaguely feminine giggles coming from the room next to his. Great. Now his floormates thought he was an idiot.

By the time he finally battled his way through the door and into his room, he was way too tired to do anything but flop into bed. He didn't even stop to unpack – something that came back to haunt him the following morning, when he couldn't find a clean pair of jeans, let alone his favourite purple t-shirt.

And then there was that encounter with the massive second-year. The guy was genuinely huge – must've been a rower or something. He'd shouted, "Low-key!" (or something like that), and Clint had wondered if perhaps he thought everyone was being too subtle. He was certainly less than tactful, clamping a huge hand down on Clint's shoulder and spinning him around, grinning like Christmas had come early. Clint felt quite guilty when the guy properly looked at him and realised he wasn't what he was looking for.

"You're not low-key…"

"No…" The guy's fingers were kind of hurting now.

"Why are you not low-key? Low-key!" And with a yell that nearly burst Clint's eardrums, the giant was gone.

So that was his first impression of the place. Confusing windy streets and scary rower-dudes. Clint hoped the rest of his time here would be less… perplexing.

* * *

After Darcy finally got her suitcases up the stairs and into her room (well, it was mostly Steve, really), she spent the rest of the morning unpacking and admiring the view. Midgard was situated on the top of a gently sloping hill that rose far above the rest of the town, and from her window she could see everything spread out before her like a map. There was the station, with trains that looked like toys from up here, and the little shops sitting comfortably on the cobbled streets, and the miniature people winding their way to wherever it was they were going, and in the middle of it all the great cathedral, its spire standing tall and proud against the sheeting rain.

_Knockeddy-knock-knock. _Darcy smiled and ran to open the door to her extremely wet best friend.

"Oh my God! What is with all this rain?" Jane dropped her bags and went to hug Darcy.

"I know, right? I mean, it is October, but still! It's like a flood."

"Well, if it does actually flood, at least we'll be safe up on our little hill."

"Yeah, us and the Asgardians next door."

"Really? _That's _Asgard? It looks more like an actual house."

"I think that's supposed to be the point." Darcy fished around in the pocket of her hoody and produced a rather sodden university leaflet. _Bifrost University_, it read in large, friendly letters. _The gateway to success! _"Look at those happy people having fun in the sun. Surely someone must've sued Bifrost by now for leading unsuspecting freshers astray. I doubt we'll get that much sunshine in a year, let alone a day."

"I'm sure it'll get better come the summer. And we might get snow in the winter!"

Stupid Jane, always being optimistic and ruining Darcy's rants.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang, and both girls jumped.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Darcy! Language."

"Sorry, let me rephrase that. What the _frick _was that?"

"I don't know. I think it came from the ceiling." Darcy tipped her head back and glared furiously upwards, as if she could murder the occupant of the room above theirs with a mere look. "Well, should we go and take a look?"

"Good God, no. We have no idea what could be up there. It might be a bomb… or a dragon."

"I highly doubt that it's a _dragon_, Darcy."

"You never know."

"I think I'm going to go and see what's up there." Jane moved to open the door, which swung slowly open to reveal Steve standing outside looking vaguely guilty.

"Um… Hi."

"What the fu…" Jane looked daggers at Darcy. "…fug are you doing here? Were you listening at the door?"

"No…"

Darcy and Jane gave him identical withering looks.

"I swear, I didn't mean to! The walls are just really thin, and I overheard you talking about the noises from the attic…"

"Wait, you know about those?" Darcy's expression turned to one of almost insane curiosity.

"Well, yeah. Everyone in Midgard does. They started a couple of days ago, at the very beginning of freshers' week, and they haven't stopped since."

"Do you know what's causing them?"

Steve looked around furtively, as if he was about to let out some great secret. He cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered, "It's the guy upstairs."

"You mean," Darcy too checked to make sure the coast was clear before copying Steve's hand movement, "God?"

"No! The guy in the top room." Darcy and Jane looked blank. Steve looked like he was fighting an urge to roll his eyes. "No one knows when he arrived. He was just _there._ One minute the attic was empty, the next – boom."

"Who _is _he?" Jane said quietly, almost reverently, and Darcy could tell her romantically-minded brain was going into overdrive.

Steve shrugged. "Dunno. All I know is he's called Loki or something."

Darcy vowed there and then to garner as much information on this 'Loki' as she could, even if it meant asking every single member of the student body. She was determined to find out exactly why he felt the need to make weird explosion-y noises at three o'clock in the afternoon. And once Darcy set her mind on something, she didn't let it go for anything. The guy wouldn't know what had hit him before it was too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yo. It's us, back again. (****_guess who's back back back back again gain gain_****) Sorry about the mahoosive wait, there was a bit of a breakdown in communication and then we both went on holiday. But we're back now, so it's all good. On with the show.**

* * *

"So, do you get it now?"

"Um…" Bruce looked down at the table and drew patterns in the mound of sugar. "Kind of?"

Tony sighed and threw up his hands. "I can see I'm wasting my breath. And my drawing skills." He gestured to the stack of napkins covered in scribbles of leptons and bosons and quarks and God knew what else.

"Your non-existent drawing skills."

"Hey! I'll have you know I won first prize in an art competition at school!"

"How old were you?"

"… Four."

"Exactly."

Tony hit Bruce on the arm with a packet of sugar before ripping it open and pouring all of it into his black coffee. Bruce had learned very early on that Tony was addicted to coffee. Heaven forbid that anyone should deny him even one of his thrice-hourly cups.

It was weird how quickly they'd settled into an easy friendship. Normally it took Bruce at least six months to become this comfortable with someone, but he'd clicked instantly with Tony. They laughed at the same things, enjoyed teasing each other, and had a natural rhythm that kept things running smoothly. Tony could be over-cocky at times, but Bruce thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't been put with a complete prick.

"So, what are we doing – " Tony cut off abruptly as his eyes settled on something across the hall.

"Tony? What is it?" Bruce turned to look as well, but didn't see anything untoward. Just a guy wearing a red t-shirt, black jeans and what looked like army boots. He was sitting with his feet up on the table, leaning backwards with two of his chair legs off the floor. Well, that wasn't very safe. Maybe that was why Tony was glaring at him.

"Tony?" he said again, a little nervously this time. But Tony either didn't listen or didn't care. Instead of replying, he chose to get up suddenly, his chair scraping against the flagstones, and head over to the guy. Bruce, ever the obedient puppy, followed close behind.

Tony planted his feet on a spot behind the guy he had been staring at and crossed his arms defensively.

"Clint Barton. Never thought I'd see your ugly face again. Seems I was mistaken."

The student turned to look up at him, his expression of puzzlement quickly shifting to one of pure hatred.

"Stark," he spat, rising to his feet and clenching his fists. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, Barton," Tony drawled, drawing himself up to his full height (which was actually exactly the same as "Barton's", Bruce noticed with amusement), "I happen to have a scholarship in Engineering. Ninety-nine percent on the entrance paper. Of course, it would've been a hundred, but for those old notes I… _misplaced_."

"Yeah. Just like I _misplaced _my bow."

A crowd was slowly gathering around the two, mostly consisting of boys whispering, "_Fight, fight, fight…_"

Tony sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you that that was an _accident_?"

"Of course it was, Tony. And I _accidentally_ ripped up and incinerated those little bits of paper that I found in your room."

"That was two years worth of research and experimentation! I had to go all the way back to the beginning!" Tony's voice had raised in anger, his eyes narrowed.

"Do you know how long I had to save for that bow? A _year_!" Barton yelled back, stepping forward so they were almost nose-to-nose.

One of the guys at Barton's table jumped up to pull him back, smiling apologetically.

"Clint, come on, he's not worth it."

"Yeah, that's right, Clint. Listen to your friend. I'm not worth you getting your ass kicked for."

"I could kick your ass with both hands tied behind my back and you know it!"

Tony just laughed and stuck out his tongue. Barton struggled hard against his friend to no avail, face almost comically contorted with rage. Bruce took this opportunity to tug on his roomie's sleeve.

"Tony? Come on, let's go. That copper sulfate should be coming out of the water bath about now."

Tony gave Barton evils all the way out of the dining hall.

* * *

Darcy stared.

She was trying to find information on this… Loki character. All she had heard were vague rumours, it seemed that nobodyknew anything about him – although she had heard of some huge guy running around yelling his name. Maybe the Loki had stolen something from him. Like his notes. Or coursework. Or virginity. No! Bad Darcy. Stop imagining the two guys kissing. Stop. Bad.

Her stare deepened in intensity.

She was now attempting to get up to the attic so she could break into Loki's room, but she hadn't even got up the stairs. She had been thwarted by a fiend. A fiendish fiend. An infamous fiendish foe. Hah. Alliteration, how she loved it. Anyway, the foe was just sitting there, at the top of the stairs, blocking her entrance to the corridor and having a staring contest with her. Her! Supreme Overlady of The Stare™. She would not lose.

Her eyes watered. The eyes stared back, seeming unbothered.

She blinked. Damnit!

The small grey cat sitting at the top of the stairs gave her a haughty look, then seemed to raise an eyebrow.

"Fine!" Darcy stood up from her previous position of lying on the stairs. "You may have won the battle, my furry friend, but you have not won the war! I will return, and then we shall see!" She turned around and marched down to herroom to plan her next move, leaving the feline to sniff at her retreating back.

This was not over.

* * *

"So Tony, I was thinking about what you said about solar power, and I thought -"

"Hang on a sec Bruce, I've got to, ah, go grab a drink. I'll be back in a sec, you just wait here a moment."

"Oh okay." Tony strode off in the direction of the vending machine, then took a sharp turn and was promptly slammed into the wall.

"I told you that if I ever saw you again I would kill you," Clint snarled.

"No, I believe your actual threat was a lot more graphic and detailed." Tony narrowed his eyes and shoved his arch-enemy, reversing their positions.

Clint was not deterred. "Wow, you must have done a lot of exercise to be able to do that," he said mockingly. "Last time I saw you you spent so much time in your room it's a wonder you weighed as little as you did. Guess I did you a favour burning those notes huh, got you out to do some exercise."

Tony's face twisted into a scowl. "So you admit you burned them!" He had barely finished his sentence when his back hit the wall again and Clint's face, complete with wolfish grin, was shoved into his.

"Who, me? Oh no, Tony, you know that was just an accident."

"Um..." They both froze, and their heads whipped round to see an uncertain young fresher, standing there staring at them with a horrified blush on his face.

Clint stepped back but didn't relinquish his grip on Tony's lapels.

"You've got a little bit of lint just here..." he murmured, brushing Tony's jacket off briefly. "This is very nice, by the way...designer?"

"Yes, actually, Ralph Lauren…" The stranger edged past them and fled to the end of the corridor. He turned the corner. Tony slammed Clint against the wall, again.

"I'm surprised you even know what Ralph Lauren is."

"I see you're still just a spoilt little rich kid."

_Crap, I left Bruce! _thought Tony suddenly. _He can't be left alone for too long, he'll get into something he shouldn't! _Reluctantly he let go of Clint's lapels.

"This isn't over, Barton."

"You bet your arse it isn't."

The two rivals slowly backed out of opposite exits, not once breaking eye contact.

* * *

"DING DONG."

"Darcy!"

"What? I have a phobia of knocking."

"But you didn't have to be so loud!" Jane hissed, looking around furtively as if they were going to get arrested or something.

"Aww, pssh. Spoilsport."

"I'm not a – " But just at that moment, the light beige door in front of them opened to reveal a startlingly attractive young woman.

"Hi!" Darcy put on her best "it's really great to meet you!" smile.

"Oh, hello." The girl looked a little puzzled – Darcy always seemed to have that affect on new people.

"I'm Darcy and this is Jane. We just moved in here, and we –" Jane coughed loudly "- _I _was wondering if you'd like some cookies?" She held up the massive platter to demonstrate.

"Oh, of course. That is… unexpected. But very nice of you. Yes, I would love a cookie, thank you. Would you like to come in?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm Darcy, by the way, and this is Jane."

"My name is Natasha." She gestured to two office chairs, settling herself on the edge of the bed. Darcy and Jane sat down gratefully, depositing the plate on a handy side table.

"Here, have a cookie."

"Thank you." All three of them bit into the gooey chocolate deliciousness. "God, these are amazing!"

Darcy winked. "Great Grandma Lewis's secret recipe. It's been in the family for, like, ever."

They sat there in silence for a bit, munching happily, until Darcy saw fit to start up the conversation again. "So, what're you studying?"

"Russian. I grew up in St Petersburg."

"Oh, cool! I've always wanted to be able to read all those funny letters."

"Darcy!" Jane elbowed Darcy in the ribs. "Don't be so rude!"

"No, it is alright. People say that a lot. So what about you two?"

"I am engaged in studying the wonderful world of English Literature, while my esteemed colleague here went for the infinitely boring option of Physics."

"Hey!"

Darcy smiled mischievously at her best friend, who glowered back.

"That is good. So, how is university life suiting you so far?"

They talked about this, that and everything in between for so long that when Darcy lifted her wrist to check her watch, she nearly had a heart attack.

"Oh my God, how'd it get so late? We've still got like, a billion other people to give cookies to!"

And so with a hurried goodbye and a swift snatch of the cookie platter, Darcy blasted out of the open door, carrying Jane along with her.

* * *

Steve propped his book up on the table and let out a massive sigh. It was so _boring_! Who knew that a historian could make even an exciting subject like the Second World War so dull?

He checked the number at the bottom of the page, and was disappointed to find that it was still in single digits. Hmm.

His eyes flicked to the clock on the library wall. Quarter past three. That wasn't nearly early enough to finish… Was it?

No. Concentrate, Steve. You've got to write a report on this book and hand it in by nine o'clock tomorrow. So, _focus_.

He turned another page.

Okay, you can take a little break. But just one minute. Then back to studying.

Steve took this opportunity to stand up and stretch his legs (which made rather ominous cracking sounds). God, that chair was small. Was it made for a dwarf or something?

He looked around. The library was largely empty – everyone else was outside, enjoying the newly-appeared sun. It would most likely start raining again in ten minutes' time, but, eh. They lived in hope.

In fact, the only other people in the room were a bespectacled fresher working doggedly on what looked to be her first essay of her university career and a guy with long dark hair hunched over one of the ancient computers, typing feverishly.

Hmm. Steve wondered what he was doing.

No harm in looking.

Just a quick peek over his shoulder as he sat down next to him to "look something up".

He'd never notice.

Before he could change his mind, Steve quickly made his way over to the computers and sat down next to the guy.

What he saw nearly gave him a heart attack.

No way.

That was not –

It couldn't be –

You can't just access the White House's database, it's not –

Oh.

_Oh._

Steve looked at the guy. The guy stared back at him, with a look that quite clearly said _if you tell anyone, I will end you_.

And although he was built like a beanpole and Steve could've quite easily thrown him into a wall if he so desired, Steve was the one to beat a hasty retreat, leaving the double doors swinging in his wake.

* * *

Natasha knew something was wrong as soon as she got to the top of the unbelievably steep stairs.

She'd always had a knack for noticing tiny details, and today was no different. Several footprint-sized areas on the worn carpet were a slightly different shade of sickly green than the rest of it. There was a tiny indentation on the left-hand skirting bored, as if someone's shoe had scraped against it. Those two clues combined gave her enough information to be going on with – male, around six feet tall, wearing some form of army or combat boots. Now what would a -

She caught herself and shook her head vigorously from side to side, like a dog trying to get water out of its ears. _Get a grip, Tasha. You swore to leave all that behind, remember? It's probably just one of your collegemates. Why do you always think everyone's out to get you? Stop being so paranoid!_

She carried on down the corridor and scooped out the key to her room. It clicked hollowly in the lock. That was strange. She was sure she locked it behind her…

She shrugged and pushed open the door.

And froze, mouth gaping wide.

"добрый день*."

Lounging in her desk chair was a tall, slim guy with long black hair and bright green eyes. He was wearing a long black trenchcoat, army boots (_so I was right_) and an arrogant smirk.

She swallowed, her eyes automatically flicking to the blanket-covered lump in the corner of the room. Her mouth suddenly felt as dry as a desert. "Who are you and what are you doing in my room?"  
"Пойдем, пойдем, Наташа. Вы можете говорить на вашем родном языке, если хотите. Я не думаю, что я есть проблемы с пониманием Вас.**" She'd never heard anyone speak Russian so fluently, with barely the hint of an English accent.

"_How do you know Russian?_" she asked hesitantly in her first language. It had been so long since she'd spoken it; the words felt strange on her tongue.

"_Let's just say I'm a fast learner_." He leaned forward, still smirking like the cat with the proverbial cream, and that was when she noticed he was cradling a crystal glass of –

"_My vodka_!" she blurted out suddenly, before silently cursing herself. Way to give the game away, Tasha. But she couldn't help it. She was quickly losing her cool under his intense green gaze. Damn this guy, whoever he was.

He chuckled quietly, and she thought that if a laugh could sound evil, that was the epitome of it.

"_Yes, your vodka. It is rather good, I have to say_." He took a sip, swallowing the last dregs of the alcohol as if it were water, and for a moment she was impressed. She didn't know many people outside Russia who could hold their liquor like that. "_Don't worry, I won't tell on you. So long as you don't tell on me._"

"_Tell on you? Why? What have you done?_"

He looked at her like a disappointed parent looks at a child that has failed to complete an easy puzzle.

"_Tasha, you didn't think I just_ _walked in here, did you?_" He put the glass back on the desk and stood up, stretching his long legs. "_Well, I'd best be off. Wouldn't want to be late for the show_."

She was still puzzling out his words long after he had slipped out of the open door.

* * *

Tony strode angrily through the double doors of the dining hall, searching for his roommate. _Where is he? I swear I left him over by the buffet._

His eyes raked over the clumps of students, looking for the familiar tuft of unruly dark hair. _No, no, no… Ah, there he is!_

Bruce was standing next to a pillar, staring off into the middle distance, his eyes glazed over and his mouth hanging open. Tony wasn't sure, but he was almost certain he could see a string of drool dribbling down his chin. He hurried over to him relievedly.

"Yo, Bruce!"

Bruce didn't react.

"Um, hello? Bruce?" Tony waved a hand in front of Bruce's face and clicked his fingers around his ears. "You okay, buddy? Anyone in there?"

"I… I have seen… perfection." Bruce's voice sounded distant and breathy, as if he was a million miles away.

"Ooo-kayy. That's great, Brucie. Where did you see this, um, _perfection_?" Tony's first two fingers made quotation marks around the word.

Bruce lifted a shaking finger. Tony turned his head and saw a group of unbelievably attractive girls. He knew their type. He mentally checked down The Bitch List™ - blonde, way too much make-up, skirts so short they could've been underwear, fake tans, fake nails, fake smiles… fake fake fake fake _fake_.

Tony approved.

But they were not the type for Bruce; poor, sweet, innocent Bruce. Bruce, who blushed anytime a couple so much as held hands. No, they wouldn't do at all.

"Which one, man?"

"The _beautiful _one," Bruce said, like it was obvious.

"I dunno, they're all pretty hot."

"The one with hair like sunflowers waving in the wind…"

"What, you mean blonde? Bruce, they're _all _blonde."

"_That _one!" Bruce's finger moved a little to the left.

"That one? Really?" The subject in question was pretty much the same as the others – blonde, skinny to the point of malnourishment, skin a smooth, almost-natural brown. But there was something different about her. She had a sort of air about her, like she could destroy you in less than a minute and then step on your charred remains.

She'd tear Bruce to pieces.

"Come on, Brucie. We need to get back and finish the sulphate, remember?" Tony tugged gently on Bruce's arm, swiftly pulling him out of the quad and back to reality.

* * *

Darcy narrowed her eyes. Almost there. She was kneeling on the floor outside a door, the hard floorboards making her kneecaps ache. She was almost finished.

There was a quite click, and her eyes lit up. Yes! She could almost taste her victory! Then the hairpin she was using snapped.

She stared at it in disbelief. No! Not now, not when she was so close! She searched her pockets, desperately looking for something else small and metal. There... a paperclip. She had been using it yesterday to bookmark her place in _Othello._It must be a sign.

She carefully started again. She was was so close... the power of Shakespeare was with her. She would surely succeed. Use the Force, Darcy. Suddenly the door swung inwards and she fell onto her hands on the carpet.

Oh. There were some legs in front of her. How strange. Very nice jeans, though. She followed the legs upwards until she reached a face with slicked back black hair and a raised eyebrow, then gave a bright, innocent smile. Picking the lock on your door, who? Me? Surely not.

She wasn't sure if he was amused, or just pissed off. "You know, if you were that eager to see the infamous and mysterious resident of the top room, you could have just knocked."

Ah. Yes. She could have, couldn't she?

* * *

*Translation: Hello.

**Come, come, Natasha. You can speak your mother tongue if you wish. I don't think I'll have any trouble understanding you.

* * *

**So yeah. Sorry again about the long wait. Reviews appreciated.**


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